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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378867">No darkness, no season, can last forever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostodvandi/pseuds/Ostodvandi'>Ostodvandi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Trans Week 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Everybody Lives, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Recovery, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:54:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,203</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostodvandi/pseuds/Ostodvandi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyon survives through the defeat of the Demon King, and has to come to terms with what he has done, and what he can do from now on.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ephraim/Lyon (Fire Emblem)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Trans Week 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Trans Week 2020!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No darkness, no season, can last forever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 2 of my trans week fics, some ephlyon to spice up the tag. Again, not a particular prompt, just something I really wanted to write, and the trans week was the perfect excuse for it. Welcome to my transmasc Lyon and transfem L'Arachel agenda.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The air hurts when it goes inside his lungs. His joints do as well, cracking horribly when he tries to move them. His head is bloated and heavy, and he stays still, taking all this information in, and coming to a single conclusion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is alive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Using this information and the muddy memories that he’s been collecting for a few days - Eirika and Ephraim’s voices, a glimpse of a figure that looked so much like Knoll, the indescribable pain that made him pass out in the first place - he can conclude that someone, somehow, managed to save him from certain death. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The demon king was in his body, he had corroded his insides and polluted his mind. But, physical ailments aside, he feels sane. Was it dark magic? Did Knoll use it? Or perhaps…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyelids hurt. Maybe it would be beneficial to try to sleep.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>When he sleeps, he dreams for the first time since he shattered the sacred stone. It’s more a memory than a dream: He’d recognize the gardens of Grado castle anywhere. He’d know this sunset even if a million years passed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had cut his hair. Chosen to use the name his father helped him pick.  It made him feel more comfortable, like the looser tunics he had started wearing when he turned twelve and he realized he couldn’t hide behind the comfort of infancy anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was also on his way to meet someone important. Someone his father had told him about so many times: The children of his dear friend, Fado of Renais. The twins that were to be his friends as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Would they see through him? Would they accuse him of deceit? Despite knowing it to be a dream, the fear of being called a liar always remains, twisting his stomach into an uncomfortable knot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What did Eirika and Ephraim see when they noticed him approaching them? Would he ever have the bravery to ask, knowing the sincere answer might hurt?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Lyon. Strong like a lion. He had never been strong in any way, and yet his father suggested that name for him. So unfitting.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A younger Ephraim and Eirika stare at him from the other side of the garden. Even now, they stand tall, magnificent, an example of the things he could never be. Eirika as the side of the world he had been raised in, that he had started to try, perhaps uselessly, to escape. Ephraim as everything he could aspire to, and nothing he could actually be. It was never as simple as wanting to fulfill everyone’s expectations with all his heart.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>‘...that prince Lyon can recover.’ He opens his eyes to a familiar voice and an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. ‘His body was rejecting most healing magic, but it’s starting to accept it now…’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So that’s it. Someone is trying to heal him. If only he could focus his sight, or find the owner of that voice in the midst of his tired mind… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He breathes out, and the magic spreading through his chest vanishes with a woman’s gasp. ‘He’s conscious. I’ll go tell His Highness.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man sighs and inches closer to him. ‘Can you see me, prince Lyon?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Knoll</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The realization comes to him so easily he can’t believe he didn’t recognize him before. Lyon opens his mouth, but only a vague, choked sound comes out of it. That simple motion is so exhausting, his heart is hammering against his ribcage, begging him to stop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Please, I must beg you to not overdo it,’ Knoll mutters, and Lyon can feel his mind drifting away once again. ‘Overexertion could prove fatal.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has just enough energy to nod before he falls asleep again.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees his father. Emperor Vigarde, the Silent Emperor, Father. He collapses on the floor nonetheless, consumed by exhaustion and sickness - all things he inherited from him. Predisposition to weakness. Yet he didn’t get any of the things that made his father an emperor: Strong will, understanding of the people he governed over, natural talent for authority. He could only imagine the things they said about him, how viciously he was compared to his father, how he was performing to be more like him when he couldn’t be, he wasn’t born like him, they weren’t made of the same skin after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lyon has always been drowning. Lyon has always been stuck under Father and Ephraim’s shadows, the projections of what he was supposed to be. Or maybe of what he never was supposed to be, and tried to achieve anyway, like a tadpole that tries to fly like an eagle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lyon awakes to the taste of vomit in his mouth and a warm feeling around his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘...Lyon.’ The voice that calls for him is too familiar, too close to his heart to ever confuse it for anything else. His eyes focus better now, and he can vaguely discern Ephraim’s teal hair and the shape of his face. ‘Lyon. Lyon.’ He repeats, again and again, like a thankful prayer to any higher being that allowed this to happen. Like he has forgotten any other word. ‘Lyon.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His affection makes Lyon’s heart feel heavy. He hears Ephraim breathing heavily, sees him pushing his hair back with his free hand - the other, Lyon realizes now, is holding his. It makes him shiver. ‘Do you need anything? Anything at all.’ That foul taste is still on his mouth, so Lyon purses his lips and manages a low growl. ‘Water?’ A weak nod. ‘Alright. Give me a moment - don’t close your eyes.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Lyon doesn’t. He can’t move his neck yet, but he can look around, and this is most definitely not his room in Grado, and it doesn’t look like Renais either. The walls are white, and one embroidery hangs from one of them. The curtains float with the fresh breeze that enters the bedroom, and Lyon sighs when it touches his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘There.’ Ephraim is back where Lyon can see him, and something cold touches his lower lip, urging him to open his mouth. ‘It’s fresh water.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lyon drinks two times, and it feels like a spell slowly bringing his body back to life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘M-More,’ he manages, suddenly aware of how dry his throat feels. Ephraim offers him more, and his free hand holds his cheek. After two gulps, Lyon breathes in through his mouth, and the sting in his lungs makes him feel unmistakably </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Welcome back,’ Ephraim murmurs, choked up. ‘Lyon.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>From there on, he recovers relatively swiftly, for someone that had been on the verge of death. His skin is covered in grey and black scars as if his body is putting itself together like a puzzle. His arms become stronger enough to lift him, although his legs still won’t allow him to stand on his own, one month later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘As soon as you can walk,’ Ephraim told him, ‘we’ll go to Renais. Eirika is waiting for us.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lyon often looks out of the window, down into the city around lady L’Arachel’s castle, and wonders why anyone would wait for him.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>After six weeks, lady L’Arachel herself visits him. Lyon, sitting by the window, turns his head when he hears the door. Knoll leaves the tray of warm tea on the table and straightens his back, suddenly tense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But whatever needs to happen, will happen. If she is here to judge him, he will accept it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Salutations!’ She exclamates as she walks into the room with confident steps. Lyon notices a green-haired man following her closely but decides to focus on her instead. ‘I am L’Arachel, niece of Divine Emperor Mansel.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Lyon.’ His mouth instinctively tries to continue and say </span>
  <em>
    <span>prince of Grado</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he stops himself in time. He has no right to claim to be their prince, not anymore. ‘May I know the reason for your visit?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Curiosity, nothing more.’ Knoll gets up from his chair, offering it to her, and she accepts it. The green haired man observes in silence, making Lyon slightly uncomfortable. ‘I’ve heard you’re recovering quite rapidly from your ailment.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ailment</span>
  </em>
  <span>, one could call it that. ‘I am. I must express my thanks for your hospitality.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Rausten will help any who need it, of course,’ she speaks with such genuine pride of her land. ‘Do you know of the legends about Saint Latona?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Barely,’ Lyon shakes his head, looking down at his cup of tea. Even if he remembered them, his memories are still rather foggy, and not only the ones related to his own life. ‘A saint that founded Rausten, wielder of unimaginable faith magic.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Indeed. One of those legends posits that Saint Latona was the only one to ever be able to repel the Demon King’s possession, when said wretched creature threatened with using her as a vessel for his foul plans.’ Lyon’s stomach turns into a knot: He is the wretched creature she’s talking about, or, at least, was. ‘I believe this to be true, even more so with the… development in the later events of Magvel history.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lyon looks up from his cup of tea, which is going cold between his hands. ‘Do you mean to imply my survival was a matter of divine intervention, lady L’Arachel?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve had plenty of time to think about it in between the reconstruction efforts,’ she perhaps doesn’t intend it as such, but that feels like a dagger directed at him, and Lyon's face twists into a grimace. ‘And I’ve come up with a theory. Would you listen to it, prince Lyon?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He squints, straightens his back, and takes a sip of the cold tea to gain some time. ‘...Of course. I’ll try to make a good listener, despite not being at my best at the moment.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Perfect.’ Her eyes turn to Knoll and her retainer. ‘I’ll have to ask of both of you that you leave us alone.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Knoll nods silently, but Lyon can still notice the worry on his face. The retainer, meanwhile, frowns and advances one step. ‘Are you sure, lady L’Arachel?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods, and Lyon shrinks on his seat. He can’t blame the man for wanting to protect his liege, and Knoll can’t either, walking silently out of the room behind him. Lyon leaves the cup on its saucer and tries to compose himself, but every bone in his body feels like it has turned to mush. But he will hear whatever lady L’Arachel has to say, even if it’s the last thing he does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Truth is, I might have met you before, prince Lyon,’ she looks directly at him, with no fear and, even more strangely, no resentment in her voice. Which makes her sentence even more odd. ‘Just like you’ve probably met me, without knowing it to be me. I simply wasn’t aware of it until my curiosity drove me to investigate.’ Lyon tenses up. The old anxiety about that part of his past never truly goes away, the ring of the name he grew to despise never ceases to make him sick. But she doesn’t say it. ‘Some of the recent archives in our library are outdated, I’m afraid. But don’t fear, prince Lyon, because I understand those emotions rather well myself, and I would never stoop so low.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stops there, and even through his exhaustion and sickness, Lyon understands, and his shoulders fall, fred from the tension. ‘I see.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Through those archives, however, and my conversations with queen Eirika and prince Ephraim, I arrived at one conclusion.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘And what would that conclusion be?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Your nature isn’t one that leads to evil,’ she says after a tense pause. ‘Every mortal can be tempted, no matter their origin or personality, of course. It’s characteristic of us to be flawed, and even the most innocent of pursuits can be corrupted. But you were - are, ultimately, a well meaning soul. Could you confirm or deny this, prince Lyon?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lyon swallows down the knot in his throat. ‘I can assure you, I am not a good person, lady L’Arachel.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Could you explain why?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lyon sighs, fidgeting nervously with his gown. ‘Were I a good, well intentioned person, I wouldn’t have been consumed by the Demon King and his empty promises of power in the first place. My reasons to reach for him weren’t only founded on my worry for my people, as it should’ve been, if it was fated to happen. I was jealous, incompetent and unfit to be king. Fomortiis simply used what was already rotten inside me to take my body and will and make them his.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wind blows softly into the bedroom, rising the curtains and making Lyon shiver. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Isn’t it true what I mentioned that all humans are flawed?’ Lyon can only do so much as open his mouth before she raises a hand and continues talking. ‘And yet, you survived that which is unsurvivable, by any earthly logic. Thus, my conclusion is that Saint Latona, in her mercy and wisdom, decided that you must survive despite your faults.’ She sighs, bracing herself for her next words, and Lyon leans over himself in an instinctive gesture to protect himself from whatever it is to come. ‘I will be frank, prince Lyon. I do not understand how it is that you sit before me, almost fully recovered from a complete possession by the Demon King himself. I have a hard time believing that, with you here, that vile being is completely wiped from this world. But I cannot fight factual reality: That you still </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and there must be some higher reason why. Simple luck can’t possibly save a soul from complete corruption.’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘I fail to think of any objective why a well renowned saint would keep me alive, lady L’Arachel.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘My own personal theory is that there is more that you can do. Something that can atone for that which was lost.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something good enough to atone for that which was lost. The lives of so many civilians. All the homes destroyed on the wake of the war. Could there really be anything a simple human can achieve in one lifetime that makes up for all the loss? Lyon squints. ‘What could that even be, lady L’Arachel?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘That is for you to find out, I’m afraid.’ She shakes her head. ‘Someone - be it Saint Latona, or some other entity, they gave you the gift of life back. For all my chatter, it is you who decides what purpose you wish to give it.’ She gets up from her chair, and Lyon’s gaze follows her. ‘I thank you, for allowing me to appraise your character up close. I wish you a swift recovery, prince Lyon.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘...You have my thanks,’ he murmurs, hands linked over his lap, so tightly that the tip of his fingers turn white against the back of his hands. ‘Have a good day, lady L’Arachel.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The gift of life, huh? </span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It has never been exactly a gift for him. Life is always so heavy, so inconveniently painful and uncomfortable. There is no closure in the world like there is in the novels. He doesn’t want a second try in it. No, truth is, he cherishes being alive, but he doesnt deserve it - and how is he supposed to accept a gift he didn’t earn? How is he supposed to enjoy something he took away from so many people? Why was he the only one forgiven and brought back, when he was the worst of all the sinners?</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ephraim keeps coming back to his bedroom. Whenever he does, Knoll stands aside, and sometimes disappears completely. Lyon can only assume he’s standing by the door, just in case anything happens, but unwilling to interrupt his and Ephraim’s time together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That, as mortifying as it is to admit it, makes Lyon just slightly happy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he visits, he offers Lyon his hands, and he takes them as firmly as he can. “As soon as you can walk, we’ll go to Renais”, he had said. Or something like that. And Lyon doesn’t want to abuse Rausten’s hospitality more than necessary. So Lyon puts his feet on the floor one more time, a familiar weakness creeping up on them, but Ephraim’s grip keeps him steady. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t overdo it,’ Ephraim always says, and he says it once again now. ‘Lyon.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘It’s fine,’ Lyon replies, shaking his head. ‘I can- A couple more.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Alright.’ His confidence in Lyon’s words hurts, even in something as small as this. ‘You’re already managing more steps than last time.’ Lyon’s grip on him tightens, and Ephraim halts, a rather sudden movement that makes Lyon stumble backwards.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, before he can fall, Ephraim pulls him back up, letting Lyon rest against him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ephraim is warm - has always been, actually. He’s been this close before, his nose next to the crook of his neck, and Lyon isn’t as much of a fool as he used to be, back when he had denied himself these feelings among the jealousy that came laced with them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have always loved you,” he had said, “I have always hated you.” Such a horrible double confession, and yet Ephraim is still there, holding him up when he’s about to crumble, refusing to give up on him again and again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Did he hear the answer Ephraim gave him? He can’t remember.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Lyon?’ Ephraim calls him, and Lyon looks up, breathing heavily due to the exertion. He is still unbearable handsome, but different from before, his eyes exhausted by the war and what has come after it, the healing scar on his face, his grown out hair he hasn’t got cut yet. He wants to bury his fingers in it, but-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘I’m… I need to sit down.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ephraim hums, helping him to the edge of his bed, and Lyon flops face up on it, letting out a long sigh. The sight of the upside down windows makes him smile, for some reason, and he closes his eyes to the sunlight pouring from them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Something funny?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Lyon replies, and Ephraim flops by his side. ‘Not really.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘What is it, then? If you want to share.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This isn’t exactly happiness, not when the mere concept of feeling it fills him with guilt, but it’s something close to it. Ephraim’s fingertips rest on Lyon’s palm, and he opens his eyes to Ephraim's relaxed expression. Lyon takes refuge in this moment, when it feels like they might be back in Grado, with a million unsaid things and so much potential before them. He can pretend the scar on Ephraim’s face was a result of sparring, and the exhaustion in his body is just the result of a temporary ailment. He can pretend things have yet to gone somewhere they'd both regret.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he can't keep pretending forever. This world he has now - this </span>
  <em>
    <span>gift of life</span>
  </em>
  <span> he's been given, the less he can do for others is make the most of it to undo his wrongs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'Ephraim.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking at him now, peaceful and calm, clean of blood and fear, bathed by sunlight, Lyon wants to remember that face, etch it in his memory to remember it whenever his new resolve falters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'Yes?'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His fingers curl around Ephraim's hand, soft and careful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'I think we should go back to Renais.'</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am Saint Latona actually. I decide Lyon has to survive because he is my fave and he deserves to smooch Ephraim and be happy.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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